


Alice in Wonderland

by tragicamente



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:26:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragicamente/pseuds/tragicamente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander moves to LA and bumps into the last person he thought he'd want to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alice in Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on LJ, written as a request for more Spike/Xander stories.

It happened just like it was never supposed to. Xander tumbled down like Alice in wonderland and it was Spike who caught him, cold skin and vice-like grip and all Xander could do was mumble ‘Anya’ into his shoulder.

_What the fuck are you doing here?_ Spike says, and his hair reflects the moonlight and Xander can hear the sound of LA pulsing through his bones – cars and screams and groans and the hurried rush of footsteps. Of course, Xander is drunk, so he can’t really answer properly and he was actually trying to find Angel so nothing really comes out of his mouth that makes any sense.

He came to LA for something different. Willow was in England with Giles, Buffy was…well, Buffy wasn’t coming out of hiding for a while and Anya. Well, Anya was dead wasn’t she? And he loved her and now she was gone and there were regrets there and they lie nestled underneath his skin, burrowing deeper and deeper. The alcohol helps, sometimes.

_Christ, you’re heavy._

Spike’s british drawl drums itself into his ears and he wonders why he’s still holding on so tightly to the leather, still pressing himself so close. Spike isn’t warm, he isn’t friendly, he isn’t anything Xander likes at all – probably just familiar. Familiar Spike in a strange new city far from home.

-

Xander wakes up in Spike’s bed around midday and there is nothing in the fridge except blood packets and weetabix and the tap in the kitchen doesn’t work.

_What kind of place is this?_ He says out loud to no-one but Spike steps out the shadows, black shirt, black trousers and glares.

_If you don’t like it you can bloody well go elsewhere._ Smoke curls from his lips and Xander just looks kind of sheepish, scratches the back of his neck.

_Nah, it’s good._

They spend the day playing cards and drinking whiskey, actually Xander doesn’t do any drinking because his stomach is still protesting from the night before, but they play cards. Spike’s tongue loosens and out come stories. Stories Xander has never heard before about lost love and olden times and all the countries he’s visited.

_How come you never said any of this stuff before?_ Xander asks, two weeks in and he still hasn’t even tried looking for a place of his own. Spike coughs, stubs out his cigarette and takes out another one.

_Maybe you never listened._ He lights up and Xander watches the light glow red and the shadows dance around Spike’s face. He never really noticed how blue his eyes are, piercing and terrifying but familiar. Comforting in the same way that the run down apartment is. The basement is filled with boxes, some empty, most of them unpacked and odd trinkets scattered around, small piles of ash around the rooms. Xander is used to it, he knows where the cutlery is, where Spike keeps his nail polish and how the toilet doesn’t flush unless you push twice in quick succession. He’s learned the little things slowly and surely.

A month later and he wakes up to orange juice in the fridge, bright contrast against the dark red of the blood bags hanging next to it.

Xander wonders when he stopped being freaked out by those things.

-

He puts little red circles around the jobs he might be interested in, but he doesn’t really feel like doing anything much at the moment. Spike and him have started going out in the evening. They go to bars that are close by, swarming with young girls that hang off Spike’s arms when he enters because he’s so mysterious and stuff. Xander watches from the sidelines, nursing a bottle of beer and trying to think of things to say. Sure, he’s funny and the girls all laugh at his jokes and call him cute. But he’s the one left alone in bed (sofa-bed, more accurately) at night listening to the girls cry out _harder, faster, oh god yeah, Spike_ while he jacks off imagining what he’s doing to them. Imagining Spike’s fingers driving deep into the girl’s pussy, fangs elongating as he comes, careful not to break any skin, careful not to let her see.

He tells himself it’s just been too long, he still can’t sleep with a girl after Anya. All he sees in them is her and he knows already she’s irreplaceable.

That’s all.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling something warm bloom in his chest when the girl tries to stay the next morning and Spike only wants to talk to him.

-

It’s dark most of the time now. He’s started living his life around Spike’s timetable, he calls them ‘vampire hours’ because he wakes up at five in the afternoon and goes to sleep just before the sun rises.

Spike looks at him funny sometimes as he stumbles into bed, wincing at the light, but he pretends he doesn’t notice, pretends he doesn’t know what he’s thinking. Going out for a fag and a bird, coming? Spike says and Xander doesn’t join him because he can get drunk somewhere else without having to watch Spike go home with someone.

The bar he goes to is seedy, dank and proper underground LA with questionably human shapes swaddled under layers of clothing. He orders whiskey on the rocks because it’s not his favourite, watches the golden brown swirl at the bottom of the glass. He’s onto his fourth shot when he feels a hand slide across his back, it’s cold and Xander looks at the new stranger sitting next to him. For a drunken second he thinks it’s Spike but it’s just a blonde boy, green eyes and seductive smile.

“You here alone?” he asks and Xander laughs in his face.

“Sorry,” he says, wiping his eyes, he motions to the barman to get another drink. The blonde boy accepts it and Xander can still taste the whiskey on his lips when he kisses him in the alleyway behind the bar. The boy wants to fuck him but _fuck no_ because he’s never done that before and jesus he says, throwing up promptly. 

He’s so ridiculously drunk that he goes into Spike’s room when he gets back, still smelling of alcohol. Spike is lying there naked, pale skin practically glowing. He is muscle and sinew and Xander never noticed how fragile he looks. Spike turns over, eyes flashing open and stares at Xander in the doorway. His hand falls to his groin but he stays motionless. Xander can’t seem to look away. His cock twitches in his jeans and he practically runs from the room, nails trying to grip the tiles of the shower as he comes.

He looks at himself in the mirror - pale, gaunt reflection looking back.

_Shit,_ he thinks.

-

It’s been a few days now. Spike hasn’t asked any questions, which is actually kind of weird because Spike is normally really direct about these things. Xander feels nervous, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

_Whatya doing, sugar?_ Spike asks, sitting down next to him and staring at his hand.

_Uh. I’m not really sure._ Xander replies, intensely interested in his nails. He can feel Spike look at him, can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

_Let’s get this straight_ – Spike starts saying but he’s got a hand on Xander’s thigh and the blood has rushed out of his head and all he hears is white noise. That’s what he’ll think of later, that’s how he remembers it – just white noise as he presses his lips to Spike’s and Spike lets out a startled gasp.

Yeah, just white noise and white skin and Spike scratching lines into his back, going hard and fast and Xander curling his fingers into the sheets as he comes.

-  
There is no cuddling, of course, though Xander does get the impulse for a second. They lie side by side, smoke from Spike’s cigarette crowding the air. There’s a strange sense of finality in the air.

_You can’t live this life, my life_. Spike says, finally. And Xander doesn’t really know how to disagree, even though he wants to.

_I know._

For some reason – that is that. Spike kisses him again before walking out the room. He doesn’t come back in the morning.

-

The sun feels strong on his skin as he steps out the door - but it’s bright and warm. Xander starts walking away from the apartment, job application tucked under his arm.

He feels a pair of eyes on his back as he goes.

The city shines.


End file.
